


That's All I've Got To Say

by theoddling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Kinda, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddling/pseuds/theoddling
Summary: There is an undeniable difference between knowing how you feel and actually telling the other person.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 187





	That's All I've Got To Say

**Author's Note:**

> What do you get when you cross a moody Shye, a quiet night, and the soundtrack to a beloved 80s animated film? Pure, plotless fluff, apparently.
> 
> Title, some lines, and the general mood inspiration drawn from “The Last Unicorn” (so this doubles as a game of spot the lyrical references).

Jaskier was fluid, light on his feet, nimbly twisting his body in and out and between his fellow dancers in perfect rhythm. Geralt tracked him across the crowd, not by the sharp blue of his chosen suit for the night which seemed extra bright in the light of the bonfire, but by the way faces lit up when he passed, glowed when he spared a moment’s attention. Geralt felt a pleasant warmth settle over him and a soft smile twitch on his lips.  


“You look pleased,” someone said lightly, sidling up to stand beside him close enough to be heard over the sound of the musicians and the lively reel they played.  


He shrugged, eyes never leaving the makeshift dance floor. “It’s a nice evening. Why shouldn’t I be pleased?”  


“You’re just standing off to the side watching. Don’t you want to be out there, dancing?”  


“No.” That was true, though if Jaskier asked him to, he would probably do it anyway.  


Silence hung just long enough that Geralt thought the person had left, finding him less than ideal company, until suddenly they spoke again.  


“Whoever they are, if they’re out there without you, you should tell them how you feel before you lose them. It’s a night for romance.” Her tone was smug, and he heard the swish of her overly-starched skirt as she walked away as if it were intentional punctuation on her point.  


He had thought about it before, certainly, even tried, more than once. One night as he watched over the bard, who had, celebrating the apparently shocking popularity of his latest song, made himself sick with drink, he had made a go of it. But he had fumbled and Jaskier had fallen asleep part way through and remembered nothing of it in the morning. He had shrugged off the whole disastrous affair, eventually, but had brooded (as Jaskier described it) and mulled it over for days first.  


Another opportunity arose not long after, when they were ambushed by a creature, he couldn’t even remember what it was now. It had barreled into the bard, knocking him to the ground. Geralt had quickly dispatched it, but Jaskier was still lying motionless. Geralt swore and rushed over to his side, a confession on the tip of his tongue, tinged in anguish and self-hatred.  


“Oh is it dead?” Jaskier sat up and asked, startled and a little bit dazed. “Good. Although it is a shame I missed the whole thing. Was it very impressive?”  


Geralt bit back a relieved laugh and offered him a hand back up, delighting in how warm and soft and well-fit for his the answering one was. They lingered that way, standing close, palms pressed together and fingers curled around each other, but the moment passed before the witcher could pull himself from Jaskier’s magnetism to speak.  


He could think of a half-dozen, at least, other situations where an admission almost came out but didn’t.  


Geralt loved Jaskier. He knew that fact with every fiber of his being. He could spend hours highlighting all of the things about him that had led to this feeling: his warmth and openness, his positivity, his humor, optimism, trusting nature (though they could also be frustrating at times). There were superficial things too, of course, things that captured Geralt’s undivided attention without ever meaning or even trying to: his long graceful fingers dancing like magic over his lute strings or a page of lyrics or thin air when he got particularly excited, the carefully combed swoop of his hair which perfectly framed his face, the way his eyebrows pinched together just slightly when he was uncertain, the honeyed tone of his voice, the way it seemed particularly warm when he sang of Geralt’s own actions.  


He wanted so badly to tell him all of these things. To shout them to the world or sing them out at the top of his lungs the way Jaskier did with all of his feelings, so beautifully. But every time he tried, or even thought to do so, he was rendered dumb. All it took was meeting those sparkling, magical sapphire eyes and his tongue turned to clay. He knew he was not a man of words or melodies; he had never tried or desired to be until he met the bard.  


He didn’t know if Jaskier felt the same. There were moments of tender vulnerability, especially in the dark of late nights in the wilds when they were utterly alone, where he seemed to, glances cast when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking and small touches of concern or comfort. But, he told himself, that was his nature. He loved, so much, so fiercely, and so easily, that it was impossible to tell what was instinct and what had more meaning. 

~

The party was still in full swing when Jaskier found him, seated (relaxed one might even call him) on a rough bench near the fringes of the field.  


“Geralt!” he cried exuberantly, face flushed and eyes shining, not from alcohol, but from sheer joy. He would drown in that clear blue any day.  


He moved to fling an arm over the bigger man’s shoulder and stumbled. Immediately, Geralt lurched to his feet, hands shooting out to catch him, one clasping his upper arm and the other pressed lightly to his chest to steady him. He consciously refused to acknowledge the fact that his little finger brushed against the curls peeking out through the unlaced “v” of his shirt collar.  


“Perhaps you should call it a night,” he teased. “You can barely keep your feet.”  


Jaskier huffed, suddenly feeling too warm despite the cool night air and gentle breeze.  


“You worry too much Geralt. Besides, exhaustion tomorrow is worth the thrill of tonight!”  


He smiled, and Geralt thought he noticed a sly glint to it.  


“You’d understand if you joined me out there instead of skulking in the shadows. They are celebrating, in part, your victory over the monster that plagued them, after all.”  


“I don’t dance.”  


“I know, I know. And you don’t like crowds and you hate having to dress nicely and actually comb your hair for once.” The bard flapped a dismissive hand at him. “But look at you, enduring it like a champ. Have you ever even tried dancing?”  


“No.”  


Geralt was sharply aware of his hands, still on Jaskier, and the incredibly short distance between them, and how completely nonplussed Jaskier was about them.  


“Will you then…”  


Geralt’s jaw tightened in anticipation of how that sentence would end.  


“…for me?” The tone was soft, almost pleading, and any resolve he might have had melted away. He sighed.  


“Fine. One.”  


Jaskier’s breath hitched in surprise, but they both pretended not to notice, before he grinned gleefully. Geralt released him, sure that he could keep his feet now and knowing that the longer they touched the more he would want to never let go.  


“Excellent! I’m sure you’ll be lovely at it. You’re already so graceful with those swords of yours. Of course this dance they’re playing now is particularly difficult to start in the middle of and it’s almost over anyway I’m certain, so we’d best just wait for the next one, and you can just follow my lead, won’t that be a change, I’m usually the one following you. This will be fun, I promise.”  


Moments later, the last, complicated note hung in the air and Jaskier began to tug the witcher toward the other dancers. Geralt followed, uncomplaining, reveling in the feel of his touch. Silence hadn’t yet fallen completely when the band struck up the next song, and Jaskier’s mouth fell open in a hushed, startled “oh.”  


The music was slow and ethereal, as dancers coupled off and began to drift across the open space in elegant circles.  


“Obviously we’ll wa—“ Jaskier’s sentence cut off into a squeak of surprise as Geralt tugged at their linked hands, pulling them face to face and wrapping his other arm lightly around the bard’s waist.  


“Is this okay?” He whispered, breath tickling Jaskier’s ear and causing a blush to creep across his face.  


Jaskier swallowed heavily, looking up through his long lashes to meet smoldering yellow eyes staring down at him.  


“Y…yes…this is…quite fine,” he stammered, blushing harder at the way his words failed him.  


His free hand came up to rest on Geralt’s shoulder as he cast a furtive glance about. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice the pair, and even if they had, they were certainly not the only odd couple on the floor.  


As they began to move to the delicate melody, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. Geralt was a natural (or was lying about having never danced before, Jaskier speculated) and the two of them fit together like this was what their bodies had been designed for, perfectly balanced and in sync. There was scarcely a hair’s breadth between them, and still the space seemed too large to Geralt, who flexed just slightly to draw them chest to chest as they glided. For a brief, shining instant they leaned even further into each other, lips not quite brushing, a phantom of the kiss they both craved, before a looping turn pulled them to part.  


The dance ended all too soon for either of their liking, and they slowed to a stop. Reality rushed back in as they separated.  


And Geralt smiled, blindingly. Jaskier felt light-headed, sure that his heartrate had tripled at the expression, one he didn’t think he’d ever seen before but would treasure in his memories for the rest of his life.  


“You know, Jaskier,” he kept his voice low, melted butter tone shooting straight through the other man. “I think you were right.”  


Jaskier’s eyebrows arched in surprise before folding into that precious, puzzled frown.  


“A…about what exactly?” he stuttered, still dazzled.  


“I do like dancing,” Geralt shrugged. “But it’s getting late. I’m going back to our room.” He patted Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder, as he had many times before. “If you decide to…grease any unfamiliar wheels, try not to wake me up.”  


Jaskier huffed a laugh, hesitating a moment. Then he followed, jogging slightly to catch up with the witcher’s longer strides.  


“Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll come with you. I’m feeling rather tired myself suddenly.”  


Geralt chuckled and shook his head, as the pair fell into step with one another and made their way across town to the little inn where they were staying. 

~

A peculiar silence hung over them as they went about their familiar nightly routines, one heavy with tension and longing and a just a taste of promise.  


Steeling himself, closing his eyes in the hopes that if he couldn’t see the object of his affections the confession might come easier, Geralt turned to face the bard.  


“Jaskier,” he said softly, cautiously. “I have been trying to find the right thing to say for months, but the words seem to always get in my way, if that makes sense, and I come away feeling like if I were to try to make the speech the way I planned it would be laughable. I’m not a man of poetry or fine words or any of that. Not that I’ve finished more than half of any attempt I’ve made anyway, and if I keep trying I may never.”  


He rubbed at the back of his neck, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath.  


“What I mean, what I’m trying to say is…you leave me speechless and breathless and…anyway…I love you.” He was almost apologetic as he trailed off.  


Silence rang in his ears and he felt his stomach clench with dread. Slowly, he lowered his gaze, expecting to find disgust, or worse pity, splashed across Jaskier’s face. Instead he found the bard sprawled, asleep before he’d managed to do more than remove his doublet.  


Geralt laughed softly, not wanting to disturb him, and crossed the room, pulling the other man’s boots off gently and shifting him more properly into bed. After pulling the blanket up around his shoulders to ward him from the night’s chill, he stepped away, turning back after a moment’s hesitation to brush a kiss across Jaskier’s forehead. He responded by snuffling softly and snuggling downward, burying his face into the pillow.  


“I love you,” Geralt said again, voice a murmur. “And maybe someday I’ll actually manage to say it to you.”


End file.
